


Sign on the Dotted Line

by WafflesnRizzles



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Emma doesn't know what she's in for, F/F, Regina Sass, Roommate tropes, Vampire Zombie Things, magic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WafflesnRizzles/pseuds/WafflesnRizzles
Summary: “What sort of contract gets someone dead!” Emma yells, her voice high and cracking.It seems there's a little more to Emma Swan's new roommate than meets the eyes.





	Sign on the Dotted Line

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a *very* short little three part drabble that has been really fun to write.

"Fucking A," Emma curses. All of the furniture had been rearranged, and her favorite couch had been replaced with a black leather one that Emma would actually have to be  _careful_ about. Dammit. So maybe she made yet another bad roommate choice. She drops her bag on its usual spot on the floor, her eye drawing level with a hook and a post-it note that read, “Emma’s Bag.” She groans and kicks the bag some so that it blocks the door just a bit. 

Her last roommate had been a disaster. They didn’t pick up or clean anything, saying that domestic labor was just a form of capitalist reproduction or some bullshit–and on top of that decided to quit their job and become an artist, leading to two months of not paying rent. 

So when she kicked out the Commie Hack and interviewed new roommates, she had figured that Miss Pantsuit and Perfect Hair would at least pay the fucking rent. She should have known that it would have come with passive-aggressive post-it notes and unilateral decision making. 

With another groan, Emma clomps her way to the kitchen, where it takes her an inordinate amount of time to find her wine opener. It’s placed in a different drawer alongside a fancier one that looks sort of like a sex toy, because  _of fucking course._

She opens her bottom-shelf red blend and takes a hearty swig, coughing as it goes down a bit sharply. She grabs a bag of chips she’s sure is stale and marches up the creaky stairs to her lofted room, intent on a cathartic Netflix binge to balance out her shitty as all fuck day.

————–

There’s a distinct thump that jars Emma out of her restful sleep. The Netflix screen is black, wondering if she’s still watching and there are Tostitos scoops scattered around her floor as if in their native habitat. She pats around the bed until she feels the rectangle of her phone. The screen lights up, causing her to squint at the fuzzy numbers that read 4:18. She hears another thump, and a soft scraping sound, like someone was dragging a heavy bag across the floor. She leans down over the railing that separates her loft from the rest of the apartment and can just make out the silhouette of who she hopes is her roommate. 

“Regina?” Emma calls, two parts nervous, one part annoyed. 

She hears what she assumes is a curse and then, “Don’t come down here.” 

“What the fuck, Regina? I’ll come down there if I–”   
  
“Don’t.” 

Emma stomps down the stairs anyway, flicking on the light as she reaches the bottom. 

“ _What_.” Emma says, staring between her new roommate and the limp body of a 40-something year old man. “Please tell me he’s breathing.” 

“He’s breathing,” Regina says, her velvet voice dry. 

“Oh my gods.  _Why_  do I pick the worst roommates?” Emma asks rhetorically, sliding the palm of her right hand down her face. She notices Regina eyeing her skeptically, her eyes darting down Emma’s form. 

Oh. Right. Clothes would have been a good idea. Emma’s in a tanktop and a pair of white bikini underwear that she’s pretty sure her mom bought her…years ago. “Sorry if I offend your virgin eyes,” Emma retorts sarcastically to Regina’s judging gaze. “ _I’m_  not the one dragging a dead person into the kitchen.” She eyes the man on the floor. There isn’t any blood or any visible wounds. She crosses her arms, feeling her tanktop rise up with the action. “You’re not like, an assassin or anything, are you?” It would make sense. Somewhat. Regina had paid three months’ rent up front. And had wickedly expensive clothes. So there’s that.

“Of course not,” Regina scoffs. 

“Vampire?” 

“No.” 

“Well then  _what_ , then?” 

“I’m a solutions specialist.” 

“You  _told_  me that. What sort of solutions do you find, exactly? Cause this…this doesn’t look like a solution. In fact, it looks sort of like a big problem.” Emma asks, frustratedly her voice rising as she gestures to the dead man in their kitchen. 

“He understood the risks and signed the contract anyway,” Regina answers, shrugging. 

“What sort of contract gets someone dead!” Emma yells, her voice high and cracking. 

Regina rolls her eyes and huffs. A bright white light appears in Regina’s hand, and when it disappears, a thick roll of–was that  _parchment_? Did Emma just accidentally stumble into Hogwarts?

Dead bodies. Glowing hands. Parchment. “You look like a fish, dear,” Regina says with a smirk. Emma closes her mouth. “And yes, I am what some people call a ‘witch.” 

They should make a reality show out of Emma’s home life, really. “Why me?” Emma moans closing her eyes and running a hand through her tangled hair. She lets out a long breath, steeling herself before looking at her roommate once more. “Okay. How do we deal with…this?” she asks looking down at the man between them. 

The surprise in Regina’s eyes makes Emma feel somewhat proud. “If you insist,” she responds smoothly enough. “I’m going to need a few ingredients from my office. I’ll be back in–”

“Nope. No. You are  _not_  leaving me with this thing. I’m coming with you.” 

At this, Regina smirks. “If you insist.” Her eyes roam over Emma again, and Emma knows she’s just turned an ugly, embarrassed pink. “Though I would suggest you dress a bit more appropriate for the weather.” 

And suddenly Emma notices the rain pattering against the glass of the window. Because,  _of course_  it would be raining when there’s a dead guy in her kitchen. This is crazy. Emma knows it’s crazy. 

She goes upstairs to find some pants. 

——-


End file.
